


fancy footwork

by discardable



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Chrom!Inigo, M/M, Space Marines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discardable/pseuds/discardable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During shore leave on Izumo, Xander encounters the Governor of Akaneia's missing son dancing in a bar and resolves to bring him home. But what starts as a simple mission soon goes in a completely unexpected direction, thanks in equal part to Niles and some very short shorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> me: i've got this half-written leo/corrin fic i should deal with, plus all these original projects, and i still need to actually finish conquest  
> also me: writes thousands of words of a niche AU for a niche pairing instead
> 
> (i hope you enjoy this weird marxlow in space)

Xander’s midway through filing a report on their latest skirmish when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door of his cabin. He sets his work aside with a sigh and stands up, taking care to stretch out the muscles in his back before answering. The knock comes again, measured and respectful, and he’s not surprised at all to see who his visitor is.

“Sir,” says Leo, then catches himself. “Xander. May I come in?”

“Of course,” he says, and waves his brother inside.

Leo’s always been clever, but in the last few years, with Xander away on duty and Camilla at university, he’s become brilliant. Not only is he a great strategist and a skilled fighter, but he’s already garnering a reputation as a top analyst – and he’s still only nineteen.

One of his favorite things about Leo is his straightforwardness and, true to form, he’s barely taken a seat before he launches into the point. “I think the crew could use a break.”

Xander considers it, and it doesn’t take him long to conclude that yes, they’ve had an exceptionally strenuous time lately. The _Siegfried_ isn’t an ordinary Marine vessel, and its crew is the same way: tiny, elite, and specialized in taking down pirates and slavers. Their latest assignment has taken them to one of the most dubious sectors in the area, and they’ve taken down two of its larger smuggling rings in quick succession. Plus, even the most experienced soldier needs to stand on solid ground every once in a while.

“You may be right,” he says. “Any suggestions?”

“Well,” says Leo, and wets his lips, “we’re not too far from Izumo.”

He has a pretty good idea, now, who put his brother up to this. Izumo sits at the nexus of a number of popular travel routes, so it’s more or less agreed to be neutral territory. It consequently attracts pirates and Marines in equal measure, along with a healthy amount of tourists, drawn by its nightlife and rumors of its black market. It’s a far cry from their usual ports, but everyone could definitely use that change of pace.

Still, it’s hard to resist a little teasing. “I didn’t think it was your kind of place.”

He’s rewarded by Leo looking distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s not. But Corrin says there’s something planetside she’s been wanting to show me, so…”

Xander’s not great with matters of the heart, but his little brother must be even worse, because there’s no mistaking the way Corrin looks at him. No doubt their childhood friend thinks that Izumo will loosen Leo up, or maybe she’s just hoping to get drunk enough to confess. He wishes her luck, honestly; there are no official rules against fraternization, and she’ll need all the help she can get to bring his oblivious brother around.

“Alright,” he says, “we’ll do that. Tell Beruka to change course, and let everyone know I expect them on the bridge in thirty.”

The announcement goes as well as expected, although his chosen destination raises a few eyebrows. Three days of shore leave is more rest than the crew of the _Siegfried_ has had in a long time, and they quickly get to planning their vacation regardless. The rules he sets in place are the same as ever – either sleep on the ship or provide notice otherwise, don’t do anything that would disgrace the Marines – and are more arbitrary than anything. Still, though, discipline is important, and he’s not one to shirk his duty.

They dock not long after, and waste no time filing off in pairs: Corrin and Leo, Peri and Beruka, Arthur and Effie. At last only one member of his crew remains, draped lazily over the console and looking like trouble. Xander sighs deeply, more out of habit than any real irritation, and addresses him.

“Niles.”

“Captain,” says their gunner, blue eye twinkling dangerously. “Shall we?”

It’s become something of a tradition to spend his shore leave with Niles, ever since their first tour together. His subordinate had dragged him to a strip club, drank too much, and started a fight that nearly got the two of them arrested – and yet, the next time they pulled into port and he implored his captain to accompany him, Xander found himself saying yes. It keeps the man happy, and it’s nice to let himself be more than his father’s son sometimes. (Even if he’s restricted himself to two drinks per outing, and had to forcibly ban Niles from taking him to any more clubs.)

“Of course,” he says. “Did you have a place in mind?”

“I’ve been hearing about an interesting bar lately, just on the edge of the central district. It’s called the Man Over Flowers.”

“Hm,” says Xander.

“Thought so,” says Niles. “Meet you on the dock in twenty?”

*

The Man Over Flowers seems unexceptional, like any other dive bar on any other planet; the only difference is the line outside the front doors, which is impressively long for this kind of establishment. Xander’s companion drags him into the queue and, with nothing left to do but wait, he takes note of the posters nailed to the wall. They all bear the same slogan lettered in bold pink – _come see the sector-famous Laslow!_ – set above a picture of what he assumes is the man himself. His face is familiar in a way he can’t quite place, but he’s too distracted by Niles’s idle chatter to consider the problem for long, and then they’re ushered inside.

It’s packed, even for a Saturday night, and the press of bodies makes the whole place suffocatingly hot. Xander sticks close to his companion to avoid being separated, and he still has to shout to be heard over the music.

“It’s awfully busy in here.”

“Well, yeah,” Niles yells, and nods towards the stage. “Have you _seen_ him?”

Xander’s encountered his fair share of dancers over the years, thanks to his companion’s proclivity for certain establishments, but the man onstage manages to eclipse them all. It’s not that he’s handsome, or that he’s wearing nothing but a pair of incredibly short shorts (although those factors certainly help). It’s that he’s completely lost in the dance, like there really is nowhere he’d rather be than mostly-naked in front of strangers, and Xander can’t tear his eyes away.

An elbow in his ribs brings him out of his reverie, and he finds himself face-to-face with an exceptionally amused Niles. “I said, find us somewhere to sit,” his friend repeats, and disappears into the crowd.

Xander shakes himself off and scans the area for a free table. Luckily, there’s one nearby; less luckily, it’s positioned in such a way that he’ll have to crane his neck to see the stage. But he’ll take what he can get in this venue, so he stakes his claim and does his best to catch as much of the show as he can.

His crewmate returns with a glass in either hand, setting them down delicately. Xander’s beverage is a pint of the house beer, as usual, and has approximately the same smell and color as urine. Niles’s is pink and has an umbrella in it.

“That dancer,” Xander says absently, running a finger along the rim of his glass. He only fidgets when he’s really unsettled, the bad habit breaking through his normally controlled demeanor, but tonight he doesn’t feel like fixing it. “Is he new?”

“Oh?” Niles slides into his seat and leans forward, smirking hugely. “I wouldn’t have picked him for your type.”

God knows why Niles is obsessed with getting him laid, but it’s become a running issue every time they go ashore. It’s insubordination of the worst kind, although he’s inclined to let it slide; it keeps him honest in a very different way than Leo’s bluntness or Corrin’s gentle rebukes. But there are definitely bigger issues at play tonight, even if the dancer does have an exceptionally nice body.

“No, I just –” Then it hits him all at once, and his finger stills its nervous rotation. “Of _course_.”

Xander makes a habit, each morning, of flipping through the missing-person reports in this sector. Keeping up to date on suspicious disappearances is part and parcel of dealing with slavers, and really, there’s no way he could mistake something like this.

It’s inexplicable, but the man on stage has to be Inigo Ylisse. His hair is light brown instead of blue-black, and he seems skinnier than the description listed, but his facial features are the same. Xander can recite the details of the bulletin almost from memory: he’s the son of the Governor of Akaneia, this sector’s major agricultural colony, and he vanished about nine months ago. And to find him here, dancing in a cheap bar on Izumo… it’s a wonder he hasn’t been picked up already, especially so close to Akaneia.

“Of course?” his companion echoes meaningfully.

“Never mind.” He feels a bit guilty brushing Niles off, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Onstage, Ylisse finishes his routine to raucous applause, then blows a kiss to the crowd and disappears into the wings. Xander tries not to be too disappointed, but it’s a losing battle.

Xander nurses his beer fretfully for the next ten or fifteen minutes, even as Niles works his way through his fruity pink monstrosity and flags down a waiter to order another. At last Ylisse appears from a back door – dressed normally, thank god – and saunters over to the bar, looking for all the world like another patron. But he’s immediately accosted by a group of young women, who waste no time in fussing and flirting with him, and Xander takes his cue. He rises and squares his shoulders, preparing for a confrontation, but Niles grabs at his sleeve.

“Don’t go over yet,” Niles hisses, trying to pull him back into his seat. “You’ll look desperate.”

“I’m not going to hit on him,” he mutters, resisting the urge to shake loose.

“Why in hell not?”

“Wow, Niles, maybe because I barely know him?”

“That’s a good thing, though. It doesn’t matter as much if you totally fuck up.”

Xander decides to stop playing nice and wrenches his shirt free, forcing himself to stay calm. “Thank you, _Corporal_ ,” he says, “but I’ll be speaking to him on business,” and marches off before Niles can say another word.

He weaves through the bar, music loud in his ears, heading unerringly towards the dancer and his admirers. Ylisse talks with his hands, voice loud and expression open, and Xander catches the tail end of a sentence as he approaches. The man’s accent doesn’t sound Akaneian in the slightest; he’s putting on something that’s supposed to sound Izumite, but just winds up making him sound even more foreign. It’s the most transparent attempt at blending in he’s ever seen, but he can’t let himself be distracted by how strangely endearing that is.

“Inigo Ylisse?” he rumbles, and the conversation stutters to a halt. Ylisse’s smile vanishes in an instant, and he murmurs an apology to the gaggle of women as delicately as he can. They dissipate like smoke, and there’s a hard look on his face when he turns to address the intruder.

“It’s Laslow, thanks. And if you’re one of my father’s people, I’ll thank you to make this quick.”

“I’m Captain Xander Nohr, of the ship _Siegfried_ , and I’ve never spoken to your father in my life.”

His expression doesn’t shift an inch. “You’re a Marine, then.”

“Is it obvious?”

“Well, you don’t carry yourself like a pirate.”

He can’t help it; he laughs. “God, no. My father would go nuts if I went rogue.”

“Oh,” says Laslow, tone carefully neutral, “you’re one of _those_ Nohrs.”

Xander bristles despite himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says, and waves him away. “Did you want to talk to me about something other than my curious absence, or are we done?”

He rests his arms on the bar, deciding to dig in for the long haul, and goes for the big one. “Your family misses you, you know.”

It’s a low blow, and something in Laslow’s eyes shutters away. “I know,” he bites out. “You think I enjoyed seeing my mother crying on every news program I flicked through?”

“Then what’s keeping you here? You can’t love your job that much.” 

“It’s… complicated.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, soldier boy,” says Laslow, “how about this. Your father commands the Marines, right?”

“Right,” he answers warily.

“So you became a Marine because he expected it of you, right?”

That’s a good deal more complicated than Xander would like to admit to himself, let alone a stranger. While Garon never actually expressed a desire for his sons to follow in his footsteps, he’d known he was going to join the Marines ever since he was young; it had always seemed his best and only option. So he’d enlisted the day he turned eighteen, over Elise’s wails and Camilla’s silent doubt, and hadn’t allowed himself to look back.

“No,” he says at last. “I always wanted to be one.”

“Okay.” Laslow eyes him skeptically. “The point is, there are certain… expectations people have of me. Unfortunately, my sister is much better at being a Ylisse than I am.”

He suspects he already knows where this is going, and it’s nowhere good, but he asks regardless. “What do you mean, better?”

“Being Governor of Akaneia is hereditary. Lucina – my older sister – will inherit the title, and god knows she’ll be fantastic for the job. She’s smart and hard-working and just so good, and the colony will only blossom under her leadership. There’s not much room for a younger son after that, even if I wasn’t everything she’s not.”

Xander shifts uncomfortably in place, but it takes him a moment to work out exactly what’s put him off: it’s not hard at all to imagine that rhetoric coming from Leo’s mouth. He’s selfishly, fiercely glad to have his brother by his side again – like a missing piece has been restored to him – but it’s hard not to be aware of the cost which comes with their reunion. It took years of separation for Leo to step out of his shadow, and he knows, in his heart of hearts, that serving together won’t help him achieve his full potential. He understands, then, why Laslow feels the way he does – and yet he can’t bring himself to accept it.

“Look, I’m not actually trying to drag you home,” he says at last, because anything more will betray him. “But you could at least let your parents know you’re alive. Family is important.”

Laslow scowls, most likely because he’s already said too much. “Then why aren’t you with yours?”

“My brother and I serve on the same vessel. And my sisters –”

Xander cuts himself off. Camilla writes her brothers frequently, her letters brief but filled with warmth. It’s easy to see how much she loves what she’s doing, juggling her master’s degree with philanthropy work, and he knows his replies don’t have one-tenth of her joy. Elise, on the other hand, leaves Leo a rambling message at least twice a week; they grew up together, after all, and stayed together long after their elder siblings had left. But Xander gets a letter from her once a month, like clockwork, written in an oddly formal style that’s nothing like the girl he used to know. Then again, he hasn’t lived at home since she was eight, so there’s not actually much for him to remember.

“Your sisters indeed,” says Laslow, and pushes himself off the bar. “Well, if that’s the interrogation done, I need to get going.”

“Wait,” says Xander, and the words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it. This feels too much like unfinished business, like he’ll be able to talk the governor’s son home if he just pushes a little more, and he’s never been the quitting type. “Are you working tomorrow night?”

Laslow narrows his eyes. “I work every night.”

“In that case, I’ll come talk to you again. Perhaps we can go somewhere we can actually hear ourselves speak.”

“Sorry,” says the dancer, amusement and confusion warring openly on his face, “but are you asking me on a date?”

He reddens, backpedaling immediately. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean –”

“Yes,” a familiar voice cuts in, and then Niles inserts himself into their conversation like he’s been there all along. He slings a casual arm around his captain’s shoulders, offering an almost-sincere smile. “He is.”

“This is insubordination,” Xander hisses at his crewmate, “of the _highest_ order –”

“Well,” says Laslow, casting an appraising eye over him, “why not? At least you’re my type.”

And he freezes, because there’s no way he could’ve heard that right. Surely someone like Laslow is inundated with offers to go on dates; he, on the other hand, is a mid-ranking Marine who barely had a love life even before he enlisted.

“Sorry?” he manages at last. “We argued for the last five minutes and you’re prepared to go on a date with me? There’s getting off on the wrong foot, and then there’s that.”

Laslow shrugs. “Most people don’t bother arguing with me these days. And you clearly mean well enough, even with that stick up your ass.”

“It’s the chivalrous kind of stick-assery,” Niles puts in helpfully. “Very endearing.”

“Thanks,” he says drily.

“You’re welcome,” Laslow says, “for the chance to redeem yourself tomorrow. Oh, and Xander? You’re paying.”

Laslow tips him a wink before disappearing into the crowd, and Xander’s traitorous heart skips a beat. He stares after the other man, oblivious to everything but the horror slowly taking over him.

“Niles,” he says at last, “what have you gotten me into?”

Somehow, the gunner looks even more unapologetic than usual. His single eye twinkles innocently, as if he hadn’t just been responsible for hooking his captain up with a complete stranger. “You know, most people would say thank you.”

“Forget it,” he mutters, and turns to leave. “I’m going back to the ship.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally going to be in three or four parts, one per night plus an epilogue, but after some thought I've decided to split it into six instead. This means that chapters will be more equal in length, but it also means I can have a semi-reliable update schedule! I'm hoping to deliver a chapter of about 3k words around this time every week, so yeah. Marxlow Wednesdays are happening.
> 
> (It's 2am I hope to god this chapter is okay)

Xander rises early the next morning and heads down to the ship’s cargo hold, thankful for his clear head. He’s got a routine to follow, and even shore leave is no excuse for a captain to slack off.

His first fifteen laps around the hold are mostly to warm up and get his mind working. The basics of his regime haven’t changed in all his years as a Marine, and he feels the anticipation in his bones. After his first run he’ll work on his core, then do another fifteen laps, go through exercises with his blade, and cool down with one final circuit.

Eight laps in and there’s still no sign of Leo, who usually joins his early-morning training, but he’s not terribly surprised. His brother, hardworking as he is, deserves a holiday sometimes too, and there’s no better place than Izumo to shake things up. Hell, even Xander has plans for this evening –

Right. He has a date.

The realization almost makes him stop in his tracks, but luckily instinct takes over and he stumbles forward. The events of last night come back in a rush, and it strikes him once more how bizarre the whole situation is. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, if he’s being honest: _a Marine captain and his self-appointed wingman walk into a bar…_ The least he can hope for, then, is that he won’t end up as its punchline.

He does math as he finishes his crunches and moves back into jogging: call it thirty minutes more of exercise, and the same again to wash up and get ready for the day. A quick breakfast in the mess hall, perhaps a brief chat with some of his crewmates… and then what? How the hell is he going to burn the twelve hours before he’s supposed to meet Laslow?

“Goddamn it,” he tells the empty hold, and picks up his pace.

*

He sits down in front of his private terminal an hour later, refreshed from his shower but no more relaxed. Xander’s a planner by nature, but he’s increasingly coming to realize that his date with Laslow defies any attempt at strategy. He’s got nowhere to start, for one; everything he knows about romance he’s learnt from Corrin’s chick flicks and Niles’s chronic oversharing, both of which he suspects leave something to be desired.

“Okay,” he says to himself, “what about dinner?”

He spends the next ten minutes searching the net for the best restaurants on Izumo, but quickly runs into an obvious trap: he has no idea what Laslow might like. He tosses up calling the Man Over Flowers so he can ask, but it doesn’t take long for him to establish that’s a terrible idea. He may not have much experience with dating – by which he really means none – but that’s clearly coming on far too strong. And if dinner’s out… well, he doesn’t have a clue.

It’s looking increasingly like he’ll have to ask someone for advice, but the people he’s with hardly inspire confidence. Beruka is out, obviously, and he’s not close enough with Effie to feel comfortable asking her. Peri and Arthur will be completely unhelpful, and Niles will be several orders of magnitude worse. Even if his brother has anything useful to contribute, he won’t be able to look Leo in the eye, let alone bare his heart. And while on paper Corrin is his best bet, he doesn’t feel good about bothering her when she has her own romantic problems.

That leaves him with precisely one option. So he calculates timezones, steels himself, and makes the call.

Camilla picks up on the third ring, and her image expands to fill the screen. She’s clearly just come home from some event or another; she’s wearing a shimmery black dress, and her hair and makeup look like they’ve seen a few hours of wear. Still, her face lights up as soon as she sees him, and he’s immeasurably thankful she always has time for family.

“Xander!” she says, and immediately adds “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he answers a little defensively, and then clarifies. “I’m calling because I want to talk to you, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows. “But you never call just to talk.”

“I know. But, well, I really need your help.”

“Of course you do,” she says, and leans back in her seat. “What’s going on?”

“We’re on shore leave on Izumo, and one of my subordinates set me up on a date. It’s tonight, I’ve got no idea what I’m doing, and I absolutely can’t screw this up.”

“Hmm.” She’s lost in thought for a good few seconds before she speaks. “Well, congratulations. Also, Leo owes Elise ten credits.”

“Those two had a bet about my love life?” Then a more pressing point surfaces, so he moves straight into it: “And since when was Elise old enough to gamble?”

“That’s hardly the issue,” Camilla says, but she’s always been bad at hiding her smiles. “So, who’s the lucky girl?”

“Uh,” he says, and immediately stalls. “Well.” 

Xander’s long since come to terms with his sexuality: he finds women attractive and men significantly more so, but he’s too busy for it to matter either way. It’s only now, looking into Camilla’s eager eyes, that it occurs he’s completely forgotten to mention it to his family.

He licks his dry lips and goes for broke. “I’m going out with a man, actually.”

She stares at him for what feels like a long time, and then she _laughs_. The sound is free and girlish, and it makes her sound like the younger sister he remembers; it’d be nostalgic if he wasn’t also the butt of the joke.

“What’s so funny?” he asks mulishly. “This is serious, and I’m trying to be honest with you about it.” 

“Sorry, sorry. But Xander,” she says, all warmth, “who you date really isn’t anyone’s business.”

“Oh.” In hindsight, it’s ludicrous that he’d been worried about her judgment; he could tell Camilla that he’d deserted his post to get married to an alien, and she’d probably just give him a Look and remind him to use protection. “I suppose.”

Her lips twitch. “Suppose away. But will you at least tell me about him while you do?”

He hesitates again, not at all comfortable with how gossipy this feels. But if he can come out to his sister, surely he can manage a few details about the man he’s dating – just not the ones about his status as a missing person.

“His name’s Laslow, and we met at a bar. He dances there, actually, for work.”

“So he’s a stripper.”

“It’s more tasteful than that.” Then he recalls the particularities of Laslow’s moves, choreographed to draw attention to his muscled physique and magnificent ass, and revises his statement accordingly. “Well, a little.”

“I was going to say, I don’t think Izumo does tasteful. So, why this man and not one of his hundreds of competitors?”

There’s no good way of telling her that they hardly know each other, so he opts for as much of the truth as he can spare. “There’s just something about him. He’s got… depth, and a nice smile.”

“And you like him.” It’s not a question.

“I think so. I know I want to impress him, at the very least, but I’m not sure how to go about doing that.”

“I know it sounds cliché, but have you considered just being yourself?”

“I’m a military man, Camilla. There isn’t too much else to me, and I certainly can’t hold a candle to Laslow.”

“Oh, hush,” she chides him. “We love you, so Laslow will too. There’s no doubt about it.”

“Yeah,” he says, because it sounds so easy when she says it. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

They talk for a long time, she about school and work and he about as many details of his missions as he can spare. But at last he starts to get restless, and she’s barely stifling her yawns behind a manicured hand.

“I’ll let you go,” he says, face crinkling in a smile. “I’m sure you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“I’ve got class and then a committee meeting, so yes. This was worth staying up late for, though.” 

“We’ll have to do it again soon.” Then an idea strikes him, spurred by a sudden rush of familial affection, and he decides to bring it up. “Elise isn’t around, is she?”

“My, aren’t you full of surprises today? But it’s a school night, so she’s probably asleep.” She yawns again, then shakes her head in a futile attempt to clear it. “And I should be too. Good night, Xander.”

“Good night, Camilla.”

The screen goes dark, and he leans back in his chair. He feels much more at ease for having spoken to her, even though she didn’t offer much in the way of actual advice; his sister is also his oldest friend and, after all this time apart, she still knows him better than he knows himself.

He checks the time: it’s well after two in the morning back home. After a moment of thought, he brings up a new tab and decides to message Elise anyway.

_I heard about your little bet with Leo. Enjoy your ten credits._

Despite Camilla’s certainty about her younger sister’s bedtime, he gets a reply almost immediately, and then another. 

_i’ll take your side any time, big brother!!_

_will you be coming home soon?_

Maybe it’s because it’s so late at night, but her responses lack the stiffness he’s come to associate with their exchanges. It’s a breath of fresh air and, emboldened, he types out a second message.

_I’ll see what I can do. The four of us haven’t been together in too long._

_you should come for my birthday next month!_

He should. He really should. Elise is going to be fifteen, and he hasn’t put in an appearance at her birthday – or Camilla’s, now that he thinks about it – in years. The last one he attended had been her ninth, and he’d managed to wrangle time off because he was still a new recruit on someone else’s ship. But he’d become less dispensable with every passing year, and it had become harder to leave, and god knows their father would never let something as insignificant as a birthday interrupt his work.

An image of Laslow flashes through his mind, summoned by the specter of dubious parental expectations, and he bites his lip. 

_I’ll put in a leave request now._

He tabs over, and it’s a matter of minutes to fill out forms for himself and Leo and send them off to HQ. He shoots his brother a quick message notifying him of their plans and, by the time he’s done, Elise’s replies are already waiting for him.

_really??? you're the best!_

_gnight (*^ω^)_

And, as soon as he catches himself smiling fondly at her cheerful little emoticon, he knows he’s made the right decision.

*

Even after all that, Xander still has altogether too much time on his hands. He’s up to date on his paperwork, unfortunately, and he’s never been good at relaxing; even now he’s resorted to pacing back and forth just for something to do. And he’s all out of books to read and simulations to run, so he settles on his bed in front of his terminal and switches it on.

He flicks idly through the channels – a cooking show, a game show, a sitcom, a cooking show again – and stops abruptly when he sees his father’s face. He’s on some news program, being interviewed about changes in Marine policy, and there’s nothing at all in his eyes.

“– confirm the recent leaks about elite teams targeting smuggling operations?”

“We’ve been taking a tougher approach lately, and have cracked down on slavers in D Sector in particular –“

Garon looks older than he remembers, and the harsh studio lights wash him out and make him seem too pale. In his dress uniform, firing off answers to question after question, he’s every inch Commander Nohr of the Marines. It makes Xander feel strange, somehow, to see his father all business, and he’s suddenly not in the mood to play around anymore.

The next channel is showing an old movie in some extinct Earth language, subtitles running along the bottom of the screen. If he closes his eyes he can tune out completely, lulled by the cadence of words he doesn’t understand. The exhaustion hits him all at once; he’s so busy with his duties that he’s lucky to catch six hours of sleep, and his bed is so soft…

He wakes sharply when someone knocks at the door of his cabin. Xander’s slow to answer it and, by the time he’s stood up and stretched and gone to greet them, there’s nobody in sight. Instead, they’ve left a tiny bottle resting atop a scrap of paper, and he stoops to pick them up. On inspection, his mystery visitor seems to have left him fancy cologne. There’s only one person on board who’d do something as bold as this, and the card confirms his suspicions.

_You’ll thank me later. – N_

Xander sighs, which he seems to do a lot when it comes to Niles, and heads back inside. He’s not so naïve as to spray Niles’s gift directly onto his body, so he tests it on a tissue first. To his surprise, the scent is musky and surprisingly tasteful, not the kind of thing he’d associate with the other man at all. There’s something to be said for stopped clocks, apparently.

The gift is unexpected, but Niles is right: it’s already after six o’clock, and he needs to wake himself up and get out there. He quickly changes into the nicest set of civvies he has, freshly laundered, and picks up the cologne again. He sprays some under his jaw and on the inside of his wrists, then caps the bottle and sets it on his dresser.

He spends the better part of a minute fighting with his hair, but is ultimately forced to give it up as a lost cause. He didn’t properly dry it earlier, and it’s completely tousled from his nap besides. So he checks himself in the mirror one last time, declares the birds’ nest on his head to be good enough, and heads onto Izumo.

There’s no line outside the Man Over Flowers today, either because it’s Sunday or because he’s earlier than last time, and he heads in immediately. He quickly scans the venue, but there’s no sign of his date; the stage is empty and, despite that, the place is still crowded. It might be easier to find a needle in a haystack than to find Laslow in the darkness and the crush of people.

“Xander! Over here!”

Someone calls his name from the direction of the bar, and he turns rapidly. He doesn’t recognize Laslow until the man waves him over: he’s dressed simply but sharply, and the open neck of his button-up offers a very nice view of his collarbone indeed. There’s something radiant about him, even off-duty, and Xander thinks he can feel every eye in the room on him as he approaches.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you were working?”

“Already finished,” says Laslow, and bounces from foot to foot. He seems much more on edge than last night, as if the ramifications of the date have finally sunk in, and Xander can’t blame him. “I told the manager I had plans, and she agreed to let me start earlier. God, I’m glad you showed up, or I’d have looked like a real asshole.” 

“You didn’t trust me to?”

“Yeah, fine, I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he admits. “Is that so unusual?”

He frowns. “A little. I know we’re still practically strangers, but I don’t think I strike people as the flaky type.”

“Oh, no, I’m not doubting your character. It’s just, your friend seemed way more into the idea than you di–“ Laslow cuts himself off suddenly, then squints through the darkness of the bar. “Hang on, is that him over there?”

Xander risks a look behind him and, indeed, Niles is ensconced at a table not too far off. He’s sitting with Peri and Beruka, the former chattering away happily while the latter frowns into her drink. They seem oblivious right up until Niles, the bastard, raises his glass to them, and Xander resolves to have a friendly chat with him later.

“You’ll have to excuse Niles,” he says. “I’ve known him two years, and he’s spent most of them trying to play wingman.”

“Oh,” says Laslow. It could just be a trick of the light, but he seems to deflate ever so slightly. “You’re the type with a lover in every port, then.”

“What?” he asks incredulously. “No, of course not. I’ve never been interested in the people he tried to set me up with before – anyway, these are for you.”

He digs around in his jacket, and his fingers brush against all manner of strange things before he manages to find the bouquet he picked up on the way here. The flowers look a little worse for wear, but the sentiment should still be obvious.

“What’re these for?”

“You’re meant to bring flowers on a date,” he hedges, increasingly unsure of himself. “It’s romantic.”

His last words come out more like a question, but they seem to have the intended effect. Laslow’s completely flat-footed, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, and for a long moment Xander thinks he might like to kiss him.

“Alright,” he says at last, twisting the bouquet between his hands. “I believe you. Let me put these in my room, and I’ll meet you out front in five?”

Xander nods, and turns to shoulder his way back through the crowd. There’s a definite chill lingering in the air outside, and he huddles a little deeper into his jacket almost as soon as he makes it there. Idly, he wonders if he should’ve brought a scarf; Izumo may have a mild climate compared to the winters of his home planet, but it’s still February, and it’d be a shame if he had to cut his date short because of the cold.

“Hey,” says Laslow, appearing by his shoulder. He’s slipped on a sweater which hugs his lean frame, and the dark color makes him look almost ethereal. “Let’s go?”

Xander can’t help but smile down at him as he answers. “Gladly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a date. And maybe the rating will go up?


End file.
